Tuesday, July 13, 2004

NEW! Nathan Jones poem

Nathan S. Jones


your shrill lurching god moves
on the water like you always say, my mother was just a girl you say, her face
                                        turned to the sun, pink as a crab. and you
pray yearly

for the discontinued model,
the full brunt of e coli and white count in the womb’s sagwater, mewing
                                        of the deep water and dusk, such a jellyfish
of young tongues,

and you love. you bray perpetual
about doubt and drag, about cool circumfluence and fusion with the lunar body,
                                        replicas of heaped garments like Michelangelo’s
half-done pieta.

you’ve been stone-broke
since the Pleistocene, wind-swept and glum. you’re caught in the act of seclusion
                                        --all types of saviors approach, all sorts mull
the mother’s load.

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